The Parsifal Pursuit

by Michael McMenamin

“Why aren‘t you in your own compartment?”

  “I‘m sorry”, she said, her smile disappearing. “I meant to ask you about this in the dining car but I was embarrassed. I don‘t think I can manage being alone in my compartment. The last time I was on a train in Germany, I was kidnapped.”

  “There‘s no need to be embarrassed. Someone who‘s been kidnapped has a right to feel frightened.” Cockran said as he took a seat by the window. “You should feel free to ask me anything. But I‘d prefer that you not surprise me.”

  “I‘m afraid I can sometimes be a little impulsive.”

  Cockran knew all about impulsive women. He had married one and now he was in love with another. The last time he‘d shared a train compartment with an impulsive woman, she‘d wrestled him for the top bunk. He lost but Mattie had spent the night with him on the bottom bunk anyway. “Look, your own compartment is on the other side of this wall. If anything happens, I‘ll be there in seconds.”

  Harmony shook her head. “I know your Mattie is the adventurous type, the intrepid foreign correspondent, but I‘m not that brave. There‘s no danger at Somerville except drunken underclassmen and squirrels racing across the quad.”

  “You‘re right. Mattie‘s not easily frightened but there are times, for her own safety, when I wish she would be a little less intrepid and a lot more cautious.” Cockran said, realizing as he did that he had probably said more than he should have. Harmony sat up straighter at this, revealing more of her nightgown. Cockran looked away. “You really should return to your own compartment.”

  Harmony reached for the sheet and pulled it up to her neck. “I‘m sorry. I didn‘t mean to make you uncomfortable. I realize how this looks but I don‘t believe I can fall asleep if I‘m alone where the slightest little noise will give me a start,” she said. “Please. Just let me sleep here. Don‘t worry,” she said and smiled. “Your virtue is safe with me.”

  Cockran sat by the window in silence, trying to make up his mind. Anything you did with an attractive woman which you could not explain to your girlfriend was not a good idea. And there was no way he could tell Mattie he had shared a train compartment with a beautiful blonde wearing a sheer nightgown. Still, the girl had been through hell the last time she was in Germany; her step-father had just been killed in Germany; and now her new lawyer had insisted on taking her back to the scene of those two crimes.

  “Okay,” he said, rising to his feet. It definitely wasn‘t a good idea but he walked over and pulled down the top bunk. “You can stay where you are. I‘ll take this bunk after I change in the washroom.”

  Harmony rose from the bed, keeping the sheets over her chest, and stood on her toes and kissed him softly on the cheek. He could feel her breasts beneath the sheets brushing against his mid-section. “Thank you. Truly. This means a lot.”

  Cockran took his pajamas from his suitcase and made his way to the washroom. He hoped she wouldn‘t try to wrestle him for the top bunk when he got back.

  Berlin

  Wednesday, 3 June 1931

  THE air was warm and the morning sun bright as Cockran sat outside with Harmony at a café on the Kurfürstendamm waiting for Bobby Sullivan. The night had passed without incident or a wrestling match. But once in Berlin, her anxiety returned and Cockran‘s suggestion of a two bedroom suite allayed her fears. He checked at the front desk for a message from Mattie and was disappointed to find there was none. He knew she had been in Geneva the day before and had gone to Milan in the evening for her interview with Mussolini this morning. But he had no idea where she was going to be after today except somewhere in Germany for a week conducting interviews with sources on the arms dealers fomenting trouble in South America and India. When it came to her sources, Mattie could be as secretive as any lawyer.

  Harmony finally appeared relaxed for the first time in Germany. She watched the street cars roll by, cradling a wide cup of coffee in her slender fingers as if the street life of Berlin were a familiar shawl she‘d worn for years.

  “Berlin appears to suit you,” Cockran said.

  Harmony took a sip of coffee and turned to face him. “Oh, the morning light does wonders for one‘s confidence. Everyone feels braver in the light of day. And a fortunate few,” she said, smiling at him, “appear even more handsome in the light of day as well.”

  Cockran didn‘t reply, uncomfortable with the compliment. Harmony placed her cup down and leaned forward. “No word yet from your sweetheart?” Cockran shook his head. “Don‘t worry,” she continued, “you‘ll hear from her soon. A man like you? No woman would want him to feel neglected.”

  Cockran looked back to the street and, moments later, was relieved to spot Bobby Sullivan‘s hatless head of black hair poke out of a streetcar that had stopped across from them. He swiftly topped it with a gray fedora. He was followed by a handsome, thin man with neatly combed sandy hair who put on a brown Homberg. They crossed the street and approached Cockran and Harmony‘s table.

  “Bourke,” Sullivan said. “This is Oskar Muller, NBM‘s lawyer in Germany.”

  Muller swiftly extended a hand, which Cockran shook. “A pleasure to meet you, Herr Cockran,” he said in accented English. He turned to his left. “Miss Hampton, I presume?”

  Muller took Harmony‘s hand and bowed over it, expressing sympathies for her loss.

  “Oskar has set up meetings with Berlin officials this morning,” Sullivan said.

  “Ja,” Muller said. “They have been most unhelpful thus far. I only hope the presence of an American lawyer and a beautiful young woman can inspire action.”

  The three of them followed Muller down the busy street of Kurfürstendamm towards Unter den Linden. “Have you experienced any personal intimidation?” Cockran asked.

  “No,” Muller said, with a hint of regret. “I haven‘t done enough to draw their attention. Because of that, I feared that NBM might release me from service.” Cockran frowned. He didn‘t much care for lawyers who were more concerned for themselves than their clients.

  They spent the morning with Muller visiting offices belonging to various mid-level functionaries, Muller would translate and everywhere the story was the same: We‘d like to help, but our hands are tied. The national government doesn‘t have the authority, one bureaucrat said, or the resources according to another. Cockran knew it was all a smoke screen. President Hindenburg had placed Germany in a state of emergency during the summer of 1930 where it still was today. If the right people in power had the will, the German government could legally do about whatever it wanted. So far, no one wanted to help stop the sabotage at NBM‘s plants.

  Finally, they were ushered into the office of a relatively high-level official. After he started singing the usual tune, Cockran finally played the American card. “One of our Munich factories is just half a mile from the American Consulate,” Cockran said. “Why can‘t the government investigate credible charges of industrial sabotage? Ask him that.”

  Muller translated, but the official had an answer ready. “Like he was saying before,” Muller said. “Evidence of actual sabotage at the Munich factory is not sufficient to trigger action on the part of the national government. Besides, their resources are limited. Whatever isn‘t spent on essential services goes for reparations to England and France––”

  “And continues straight on to America, where it‘s recycled, invested and lands right back here in Germany,” Cockran said. “Listen, this is an American company. This sabotage is hurting American investors. That hurts Germany. Tell him. Make him understand that.”

  “I wish I could,” Muller said weakly and then proceeded to translate. The official insisted he appreciated how valuable American companies were to Germany prosperity and assured him that the German government was doing everything in its power. But it all rang false to Cockran––whether he said it in English or Muller translated into German

  “We‘re wasting our time,” Sullivan whispered to Cockran. “Let‘s have lunch. If I have to listen to our German lawyer one more min
ute, I‘d better have a beer in my hand or else I‘ll strangle the little two-faced bastard.”

  25.

  The Adventure Begins

  Milan

  Wednesday, 3 June 1931

  STRIDING across the marble floor of the Hotel Excelsior Gallia lobby, Mattie McGary was furious. She had heard rumors––who hadn‘t?––that Mussolini was a notorious womanizer. But she certainly hadn‘t expected him to propose a lunch time tryst right there in his office on a desk the size of Delaware and then proceed to try and force her onto her back on said desk. Fortunately for Mussolini, Mattie had left her Walther PPK behind this morning. She didn‘t think the Chief would have appreciated her shooting the Italian dictator so soon after he had signed a new contract with Hearst. A sharp knee to Il Duce’s groin had to suffice.

  Mattie was handed a message at the front desk along with her key. Mattie opened the envelope. “Urgent. Call me at Zeppelin Company offices in Friedrichschafen––K.S.”

  Back in her suite, Mattie had the Excelsior switchboard place a person-to-person call to Friedrichschafen. Fifteen minutes later, Sturm was on the line.

  “Mattie. Thank you for returning my call. Have you had a pleasant stay in Italy?”

  “No, Mussolini‘s a lecherous pig. What‘s up?”

  “Professor Campbell and I travel to Egypt tomorrow aboard the Graf Zeppelin. There may be a breakthrough on locating the castle we seek and I thought you might like to join us.”

  “Why? What‘s in Egypt?”

  “I can‘t say more now. Please, come to Friedrichschafen. It‘s only a three hour journey by train from Milan and there are good connections here to Berlin if you decide not to join us.”

  Mattie agreed and had the concierge secure a compartment on the 3:00 p.m. train to Friedrichschafen while she placed a long-distance call to Cockran‘s room at the Kaiserhof in Berlin to advise him of her change in plans.

  But Harmony Hampton answered instead. “No, I‘m sorry. Mr. Cockran is not here. Who is calling, please?”

  Bitch, Mattie thought. You know damn well who it is. “It‘s Mattie. What are you doing in Bourke‘s room?”

  “We‘re in the same suite. There‘s only one phone but several extensions on the same number. Bourke thought it important for my safety that we share the same suite. He didn‘t feel I‘d be safe alone in my own room.” Harmony said, adding in a bright tone, “Don‘t worry, we share the same bath but we have separate bedrooms. We visited government offices this morning and Bourke sent me back to the hotel after lunch.”

  “When do you expect him?”

  “I don‘t know. He and Mr. Sullivan said they were going to visit the American embassy but I don‘t know where else. Bourke said we‘d have a late supper together in our suite once he returns.” Yes, Harmony said, she‘d give Bourke the message that Mattie was arriving the day after tomorrow.

  Friedrichschafen

  Wednesday, 3 June 1931

  KURT von Sturm greeted Mattie in the wood-paneled reception area of the Zeppelin Company and clasped her hand warmly in both of his, holding on far longer, she thought, than necessary. “Something urgent has come up. The Professor and I intend to take advantage of it. He insisted that I advise you in the event you wished to accompany us,” Sturm said as he walked back with Mattie to a small conference room where Professor Campbell was waiting for them.

  Sturm pulled out a chair for Mattie and offered coffee, which she declined. Kurt explained that he had learned through friends in German Naval Intelligence that Hans Weber, the other Austrian officer mentioned in Major Lanz‘s journal, was retired and living in a villa in Alexandria. The Lanz journal was not specific enough to narrow the stronghold‘s location. It could be any one of three remote castles in the Alps. It would take three weeks to visit them all.

  “But if we can persuade this Weber fellow,” Sturm said, “to help us out, we might be able to find the castle and the Spear in less than a week.”

  “It certainly makes sense to me, Mattie,” Professor Campbell added.

  Mattie nodded. “I take your point. But what if he doesn‘t wish to help?”

  Sturm shrugged. “I believe he will. He is a collector of ancient artifacts and Professor Campbell has recently returned from Mesopotamia with items he might wish to purchase.”

  “Really?”

  “No, but greedy men hear what they want to believe.”

  “What‘s the rush? Why do we have to go now?” Mattie asked.

  “It‘s fortuitous,” Sturm replied. “By ship from France or Italy to Egypt takes several days. There are several passenger seaplane services but they are such noisy machines. I knew the Graf Zeppelin, however, had scheduled an excursion down to Alexandria. Once I learned of this Weber‘s location yesterday, I immediately checked for available cabins and found that three of them were still unspoken for. The Professor and I will share a cabin and you may have the same one you occupied on our trip from America.”

  Mattie was torn. Given this new development, Alexandria had become the first step in their quest for the Spear. But she had arranged her interviews in Berlin six weeks before. They were key to exposing who was really behind the arms flowing into Bolivia, Paraguay and India. She knew the questions that had to be asked. Could she bear to pass that off to someone else? The choice nagged her during dinner with Sturm and Campbell, but the pull of her father––and the Spear—was too strong. She would go to Egypt. She had to do this. Back in her hotel room after dinner, Mattie had the switchboard place two long-distance phone calls to Berlin. One to Joey Thomas and the second to Cockran.

  The first call went fine. “Joey? Mattie McGary here. Sorry to be calling so late, but something‘s come up. I need you to pinch-hit for me for a couple days. Here‘s the scoop.” Whereupon Mattie proceeded to fill him in on the interviews: whom to see; when; and what to ask. She promised to send detailed notes in the mail to him first thing in the morning so he would have them by no later than the day after tomorrow.

  “What about Mr. Hudson?” Joey asked.

  Ted Hudson was the European bureau chief, based in London. “What about him?”

  “Should I clear this with him?”

  Hudson was a blond and almost too handsome former MID agent whom she had dated off and on prior to meeting Cockran. In fact, a few years back, they had been occasional lovers but she still wouldn‘t put it past Ted to steal one of her stories. “No. Include it in your regular report to Ted but make it sound routine. Nothing special.”

  “You bet, Miss McGary. Thanks again. I won‘t let you down.”

  The second call did not go well.

  “Bourke, darling, is that you?”

  “No, Harmony, it‘s Mattie.”

  “Oh…. hello, Mattie. I was about to take a bath. I‘m afraid Bourke isn‘t back yet.”

  In the background, Mattie could hear the sound of a bath being drawn.

  “Look, my plans have definitely changed. I won‘t be back in Berlin for another two to three days. Tell him I‘m flying to Egypt to interview someone. Yes. The same to you. Sorry to have disturbed your bath.”

  Damn, Mattie thought. It was 11:00 p.m. and Cockran still hadn‘t returned for that late supper in their suite that Harmony had gushed about. She was not happy that Harmony felt enough at home in Cockran‘s hotel suite to take a bath—in their shared bathroom, no less—at a time when she expected him back any minute. A gorgeous blonde sharing a bathroom with your boyfriend? And conveniently naked when he arrived? That was a recipe with many possible outcomes, almost all of which were unpleasant. Should she say something to Cockran when next they talked? She wasn‘t sure about that but she had a sixth sense about Harmony ever since she saw her clinging to Cockran at Chartwell. She didn‘t trust her alone with Cockran at all, with or without her clothes on.

  26.

  The Ambasssador

  Berlin

  Wednesday, 3 June 1931

  COCKRAN and Sullivan passed between two U.S. Marines in full uniform and entered the Un
ited States Embassy, a few short blocks from the Foreign Ministry. Not needing Muller as a translator for this meeting, they had him escort Harmony back to the Kaiserhof. Harmony had promised to obey Cockran‘s instructions to stay in the hotel suite and lock and bolt all the doors. In turn, he promised that all three of them would have a late supper when they returned. And, by that time, he hoped Mattie would have deigned to share with him her itinerary for the week. If he knew where the hell she was, they could talk by telephone without rancor as it was one of their ground rules that all arguments had to be face to face.

  They were taken to the ambassador‘s office by a young man who showed them into the diplomat‘s antechamber. A plump secretary ushered them into the office of a balding man with thin wisps of gray hair and wire-rimmed glasses. Gregory Spaulding, the U.S. Ambassador to Germany. He wasn‘t exactly fat, but his skin didn‘t cling very tightly to his body—or his chin.

  “Gentleman,” Spaulding said brightly. “Welcome to Germany!” They shook hands and sat in the two chairs facing his desk.

  “So, you work for Wild Bill Donovan, eh?” the man said.

  “Yes,” Cockran said.

  “Bill and I go way back. How did you meet him?”

  “He came to my 10th birthday party. He was Columbia‘s quarterback and he and my father were good friends. Bill was also my commanding officer in the war.”

  “Really?” the ambassador said, not offering how he knew Donovan. He looked disappointed by Cockran‘s apparently stronger association. Inexplicably, Spaulding began to make inane queries about beer halls they‘d visited and had they tried the White Mouse cabaret?

  Cockran said no, but gave no other response, letting the silence grow.

  “Yes. Well…” the ambassador said, awkwardly while Cockran stared at him. Deprive a politician of responses and he usually runs out of fuel for conversation. It was like starving a fire of oxygen. And a political appointee like Spaulding was definitely a politician. Cockran‘s father had dealt with enough of them at Tammany Hall. “What is it I can do for you gentlemen?”